


The Last Night of the World

by JetGirl1832, tomatopudding



Series: The Other Family Album [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 1960s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Army Draft, F/M, Gen, Letters, Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-08-25 07:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16656934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JetGirl1832/pseuds/JetGirl1832, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding
Summary: George Washington is just biding his time in his father's law firm until he can go to Law School himself. But one letter is about to change all of that.





	1. Chapter 1

“George!” Augustine barked down the hall of his office, “finish those depositions and bring them here!”

“Yes, sir,” George called back, even though he knew that his father wasn’t really looking for an answer, just for the depositions to appear on his desk.

He grabbed the large stack of manila folders he’d been going through and went to bring them to his father. Often in times like these, George tried his best not to be resentful. He knew that having work at a law office, even if it was just as a clerk and even if he only got it because of his father, was an impressive feat for someone who hadn’t even started law school yet. He just hated feeling like there was so much more that he could do and yet he wasn’t allowed to do it. He was excited for the day when he’d finally go to law school, to start a real career. 

Unfortunately, it would take him some time. Law school didn’t come cheap and while his family wasn’t poor, his father expected him to be responsible for part of the cost. And so he worked as a clerk, marking depositions and making coffee all through the day. It wasn’t all bad though, his brother worked there too, and without him he’d have never met Martha.

Martha was...well she was incredible. Smart, beautiful, and funny, she could make George smile in a way any of the previous girls he’d gone steady with had never been able to. Not that they were official or anything, but the two of them had been going on what George considered dates for quite a while now, but he wasn’t that great with reading emotions sometimes and he couldn’t really tell if Martha felt the same. One of these days, he’d ask her to go with him and settle it once and for all. Now was not the time to be thinking about Martha, otherwise he would never get any work done. 

He strode down the hall to his father’s office, rapping on the partially opened door before entering.

“Come in,” his father spoke up but said little else as he was on the phone, likely with some client or other.

 

George waited patiently while his father flipped through the depositions, waiting for the sign that he’d done his job adequately and that he could continue with his day’s work. 

“Good, good,” Augustine muttered going through the last of the depositions.

George took that as the dismissal it was meant to be and slipped out of the office while Augustine returned to his phone call. Next up, he would be making his rounds to get people’s coffee orders, the first of the day. He hated this monotony, nothing ever seemed to change. At least not for him, his father had his big cases and high profile clients but George couldn’t be a part of that. But whenever he complained his older brother Lawrence reminded him that his father had done the same to him. Not that it made George feel much better.

But still he continued on. He fetched coffee and reviewed depositions. Occasionally, one of the junior partners might run something by him, but it was generally just so they could get another person to nod their head and agree. 

 

After writing down what everyone wanted George grabbed his coat and went to the diner a couple blocks down from the office.

“Good afternoon George,” Joey, the diner owner called from behind the counter, “the usual coffee order?”

“Almost,” George sighed, “but today Marcus specifically told me to make sure his had extra creamer in his.”

“Big case,” Joey said knowingly. 

Joey had owned and worked in the diner for as long as George could remember. He was simultaneously ageless and like a kindly grandfather. 

 

He took a seat on one of the red vinyl chairs at the counter and sighed.

“So how goes it with that girl of yours?” Joey asked.

George knew he meant Martha, “She’s not really my girl.” 

He felt his face go red once again just thinking about her.

 

“Mmhm,” Joey hummed, clearly unconvinced. 

 

“Oh stop it,” George’s face got redder, “besides her husband just died, I don’t really feel like she’s ready to go out with anyone.”

 

“It is sad, what happened,” Joey said with a nod, “but give it time. She’s definitely sweet on you and if you stick around for long enough then there will come a time when she’s ready.”

 

He nodded, hoping Joey was right because he really did like Martha. Joey helped him gather up the coffees and George headed back to the office. He really couldn’t dilly dally any longer or he’d risk the wrath of under-caffeinated lawyers. 

 

George made his rounds delivering all the coffee before going back to his desk to enjoy the sandwich Joey had given him on the house. The rest of the day actually passed fairly quickly and George soon found himself getting onto the bus with his father. They did own a car, Augustine didn’t like driving in the city, so they took the bus. His father sat there reading the evening paper while George looked out the window, his gaze occasionally looking towards the front page. Of course, it was all the same every day: updates on the war, on the draft, on the deaths. George sighed looking back out on the window, he’d had enough of the war. It certainly didn’t help that it was broadcast on every news channel too.

It would still be some time before they reached his family’s home as they lived outside the city. It wasn’t until he was jerked awake by his father’s hand on his shoulder that George realized he had drifted to sleep.

“This is our stop,” Augustine informed him, “let’s go.”

“Yes, sir,” George replied, blinking the sleep from his eyes and picking up his briefcase. 

 

He silently followed his father as the got off the bus and walked a little ways till they reached the long path that led to the Washington family home.

 

“Papa! Georgie!”

George was able to put his briefcase down just in time to catch his little sister Betty as she launched herself at him. She was sixteen now and too heavy for him to carry the way he did when she was little, but she insisted on trying all the same.

“Hi Betty,” George replied even though the wind was knocked out of him.

 

“Betty,” Augustine said, mildly scolding. 

He was always trying to get her to act her age, but Betty was young at heart and unwilling to settle into her pre-adulthood. 

“How was school?” Augustine asked his youngest as he put his coat away in the hall closet.

“It was alright,” Betty shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m not paying for your education to just be alright,” Augustine told her. 

“I’m getting a wonderful education, Papa,” Betty assured him, “One of the senior boys turned eighteen recently and his number came up, so we had this big assembly about it today.”

Augustine furrowed his brow, “An assembly?”

It was no secret that Augustine Washington was not a fan of this war. Betty was well aware of that fact. She shrugged. 

“The principal gave a speech about patriotism,” she said mildly, “and how we all have to do our part.”

Augustine let out a snort, “Right, as if that boy would be going if he didn’t have to.”

“They brought him up to the front of the room so we could all see what an American hero looks like,” Betty added, then more quietly, “He looked terrified.”

“And he should be,” Augustine replied.

George knew his father wasn’t against war, he’d proudly fought for his country, just like their grandfather had. It was this particular war that Augustine opposed, the whole reason behind it and the sheer loss of American lives that were being incurred. He wasn’t outspoken about that dislike, not in the way that many of the college students were being, Augustine was decidedly not a hippie, but his feelings simmered beneath the surface. 

“Welcome home, darling.”

A small smile quirked on Augustine’s lips when his wife entered the room. 

“Mary,” Augustine greeted gently, “dinner smells like it’s going to be wonderful.”

“Everything is all ready whenever you are,” Mary told him, “George, dear, you have a letter. It’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks, mom,” George replied, pressing a kiss to his mother’s cheek. 

As he made his way to the kitchen, he heard his father say something about changing out of his suit before dinner. George wanted to do that as well, but he never got mail so he was a little excited. The envelope was unmarked, simply addressed in a slightly skewed type writer print. George frowned curiously. He had no idea what this could be. 

When he opened the envelope and unfolded the letter inside, George felt like his heart was in his throat. He fumbled with a kitchen chair and practically fell into it. He couldn’t breathe, his head felt filled with cotton. 

“George?” his mother asked, “What’s going on?”

He didn’t have the presence of mind to answer or to hide the letter. Mary read it over his shoulder. 

“No!” she blurt out, seemingly unable to hold it in. 

“I’ve been drafted,” George’s voice was soft, hardly believing the words leaving his mouth.

He was as much of a fan of this war as his father was, but he already knew that he wouldn’t try to get out of this. As much as he might want to. George’s hands shook as he read over the letter again, it wouldn’t be long before he’d need to go to basic training.

 

“What’s going on?” Augustine asked, walking in to the kitchen. He had changed from his suit into slacks and a soft sweater, “Mary?”

Mary was still standing with her hands covering her mouth. 

“Georgie’s been drafted,” Betty broke the silence.

“Son,” Augustine said after a long moment. 

Then they all were quiet, the silence only breaking when Mary went to make sure that supper wasn’t burning.

After supper, George briefly considered calling Martha to cancel their date, but he quickly waved that thought away. Even if they weren’t really going steady, he still felt that she had to know. He wouldn’t ask her to wait for him, George had decided, in fact he didn’t even entertain the notion that she would. He went to pick up Martha at her parents house, she was saying goodbye to her children before coming out to the car.

George had met her children a few times now. They were quite young, but they appeared to like him. As did Martha’s parents, which was a good sign. Or at least, it had been a good sign. Now George wasn’t quite sure it mattered. 

“Hey there,” he greeted, definitely more subdued than he would usually be. 

“Hi,” Martha flashed him a glowing smile.

“Do you want to go grab some coffee and cake?” George asked. 

Usually he wouldn’t drive them all the way into town, but he didn’t really feel like staying out where their families lived. Martha looked a little surprised, but pleased. 

“Alright.”

George just silently nodded his head and turned the car on.

He didn’t speak as they drove, allowing Martha to speak freely about her day, the kids, and whatever else crossed her mind. She either didn’t notice George’s odd demeanor, or she did notice but was too sweet to mention anything.

“How are things at your father’s office?” Martha asked as George parked outside a small diner.

“The same,” George replied going to hold the door open for her.

“How many times did Foley change his coffee order?” Martha asked jokingly. 

One of the other clerks, who had been there for a few months longer than George and therefore felt that he was better than him, had the tendency to change his mind about his coffee at least three times while George was taking orders. George was fairly certain that he did it on purpose to try to mess George up. 

George inhaled deeply before replying, “I think about five.”

“Each time,” Martha added with a grin as George held open the door to the diner. 

“Exactly,” George replied, managing a smile. 

The draft letter was burning a hole through the inside breast pocket of his jacket where he had stashed it. He had no idea when would be the right time to bring it up, so they sat and ordered coffees and a slice of banana cream pie to share. 

“Anything else happen today?” Martha asked.

So she had noticed his absence in the conversation earlier.

At least the arrival of their coffee gave him one more moment to figure out what he was going to say. Not that it was extremely helpful. When the waitress departed leaving them their steaming mugs Martha prodded again.

“What’s going on George?” she asked, “You’re not yourself tonight.”

George sighed and reached into his pocket for the letter and placed it on the table.

“I received my draft notice today,” George informed her darkly.

“Oh, George,” Martha sighed, reaching across the table to place a hand on his.

“I plan to serve,” George informed her, “I won’t hide from this.”

“Of course not,” agreed Martha. 

“And of course it’s no secret that I like you,” George continued, “but of course we’re not...that I don’t have any claim on you. I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything or that you have to wait for me.”

Martha seemed saddened by this prospect, “Don’t say things like that!” she scolded, “I’ll write to you, and you will come back.”

“Martha,” George said, surprised. 

“You listen to me, George Washington,” Martha interrupted, “I will wait for you because I want to. The time we have spent together has been some of the most wonderful moments of my life. I’ve been waiting for you to ask me to go with you, so how’s a good time to do it.”

George was simultaneously taken aback and pleased about this. “Okay.”

Martha looked him in the eyes and raised an eyebrow expectantly. 

“Martha Dandridge, will you go steady with me?” George asked. 

“Yes I will,” replied Martha, “Not only that, I will write to you and I will wait for you.”

At that George found himself smiling brightly, “And I promise to come back.”

“You’d better,” Martha told him. 

Then she leaned over the table to press a chaste kiss to his cheek and George felt himself flush.


	2. Chapter 2

George had never been the kind to go to the gym regularly or to work out every day, so the first couple weeks of basic training left him exhausted every night. The second his head hit the pillow he’d be out for the night. Which wasn’t really a bad thing considering just how early they were woken up in the morning. But slowly as the days went on, he got used to it. Although he hasn’t been heavy to begin with, he easily shed at least twenty points over the course of basic training. And every time someone entered the barrack announcing mail call George perked up.

  
Without fail, at every mail call George received at least one letter. At the beginning, he’d gotten more frequent letters from his mother and sister, with the occasional interjection from his father and even a couple from Lawrence. But the letters that really piqued his interest, not to mention the interest of his bunkmates in the barrack, were the letters from Martha.

While like the others, she informed him of the goings on back at home, she’d always tack on words of encouragement and how much she loved him. The other guys liked to tease George about it, calling him sweetie and making kissy faces. At first it had bothered him, but now he had learned to let it roll of his back and to tease them in return about being jealous. He was lucky, after all on more than one occasion he’d seen a fellow soldier receive a “Dear John” letter. Of a sweetheart who really didn’t want to wait, and said as much in writing, usually detailing some incident of infidelity as well.

George didn’t really understand the point of that last part. It was bad enough to get that kind of letter, it just seemed like pouring salt into the wound. If Martha ever did change her mind George would understand. Even though it pained him to think about the idea.

He kept every single one of her letters, bound together with a piece of string, in his footlocker. At least he’d have good things to look back on as the days wore on. He was sometimes tempted to figure out a way to keep a letter with him at all times, but he was too worried about losing it during a drill. So he was content to receive them and keep them. He responded when he could, but they were kept pretty busy so it wasn’t as often as he wanted. Martha didn’t seem to mind. She still continued to write him long and thoughtful letters.   
  
As the eight weeks came to an end, George and the other young man who had started with him were informed that they would be receiving their orders for advance training. Finally, they would find out their assignments. Back at the beginning of basic, they’d all gotten all sorts of offers for Officer Candidate School or getting to choose their position, but all of those things meant spending more than the two-year draft commitment, so George had decided to take his chances. Maybe he’d get lucky.    
  
“Man, wouldn’t it be nice to get some kind of clerk position?” asked Samuels as they walked towards the office building where they would learn their fates, “Easy ride.”   
  
“Nah, if you don’t get to see some action, then what was the point,” scoffed Bailey.    
  
The three of them had gotten pretty close over the weeks and George considered both of them friends.    
  
“What about you, Wash?” asked Bailey. They’d taken to calling him that because Washington was just a bit of a mouthful.    
  
George kicked a small stone that was in his path as they walked. During his time there he realized he wanted to have a legacy like his father.  To have a moment of glory to really prove himself worthy.   
  
“I want to do something big, something important,” he said, “I want to make a difference. And not just a difference in this war, a difference for our country as a whole.”   
  
“Pretty lofty goals there, Wash,” Bailey commented.

George shrugged his shoulders, “You asked.”

Once they got to the office, the three of them were lead to a classroom along with a handful of other men. Some of them George recognized from his barracks but there were also some from other groups. 

His heart beat loudly in his chest, it all came down to this. This moment could change his life forever. They were left waiting in that classroom for several long minutes, sitting in silence as everyone was suddenly too nervous to speak. Finally, some higher ranking officer or another came in and passed out manila envelopes. 

“These are your personnel files,” he said, “Don’t open them.”   
  
And then he left. Of course, they all promptly opened their files. Not that it helped them. It was written in what Mary would call alphabet soup. Different letters and numbers that meant something to someone in the know, but didn’t seem like much of anything to them. George scanned through his trying to decipher it all as fast as he could. Thankfully, a clerk was standing off to the side of the room and seemed to be more than willing to tell them all what their assignment was. George strode over to the clerk to ask exactly what the collection of letters and numbers meant.   
  
“Congratulations,” the clerk said, a hint of sarcasm in his undertone, “you’re going to the front lines.”   
  
All of a sudden George’s heart dropped, his excitement mildly dampened. Even though this would give him the chance at the glory he sought. But the front lines? He’d seen the reels, and although he knew it was framed to only show the best of what was happening, it hadn’t exactly looked like a picnic. Being on the front significantly increased the possibility that he might not come back. He could almost head Martha scolding him for thinking that way. But he couldn’t help it, the future now seemed so bleak.   
  
He had some time to wrap his head around it, though, because he was being sent to advance training down in Louisiana. He’d never been to Louisiana before, but he figured he’d have scarce time to really enjoy it.   
  


—————

_Dearest George,_

_   
I was very happy to get a letter from you the other day. It’s so sweet how you responded to everything that’s been in my letters since the last time you wrote one, you really didn’t have to. I’m glad to hear from you whenever you can find the time. I hope you enjoyed your birthday as much as you could. Was anyone able to get you a cake? If not, I promise to make you one when you are on leave. I’m actually a pretty good cook, if I do say so myself. _

_In other news Fanny keeps telling Mama she won’t need college because she wants to be an airline stewardess.  She claims it’s because she wants to see the world, but I think she just likes to see if she can make Mama faint on a daily basis. Maybe you’ll be able to talk some sense into her, she likes you. She might even have a little crush on you, but don’t tell her I said so. Jacky and Patsy are doing well too, I think Jacky misses you, he keeps asking when is Mr. George coming for a visit. Frankly, I’m not sure how much longer I can placate him._

__ So you’d better come as soon as you get the chance. If not for Jacky, then for me.    
  
Sending you all of my love,    
  
Your Martha   
  
—————

Basic training had been difficult, physically demanding in a way George had never felt before. In some ways, advanced training was even more difficult. While they did still do the same sort of drills to keep them sharp and focused, there was also an air of hopelessness among some of the recruits, the knowledge that they were essentially being training to be canon fodder and drowning in thoughts that the army didn’t really care about their personal fates. George did his best to keep away from that mindset, putting everything he had into weapons training and tactics and anything else they threw at him. The weather in Louisiana didn’t make things much better. The muggy heat that grew worse with each passing day made George’s sweat stained uniform cling to his body uncomfortably.

But still he continued on, the letters from Martha helping him through. Nothing seemed to had changed in her feelings even with the knowledge that he could get his orders any day now and that soon he would be in the direct line of danger. George half hoped to never get deployment orders and to just stay at the base and train newer arrivals, but part of him wanted those orders as well because then he would get thirty whole days of leave to see his family, to see Martha. Without that, he had no idea when he would see them again.

These feelings were so conflicting, and there were nights when he seemed to barely sleep because of it. He didn’t let his exhaustion effect his training. Perhaps it would have been better to flunk out of advance training and be reassigned to a desk job, but George wasn’t the type of person to give up. In any case, he wasn’t sure if reassignment was possible and he didn’t want to risk disappointing himself or his father.

When he could, he’d do his best to write a suitable reply to Martha, but his days seemed to all blend together. Rarely a moment stuck out to him that he felt was worth relaying back home. Her letters were the bright point of his days and he often found himself rereading them whenever he had the time. For a time he could forget the training and forget the monotony. At least for a little while.

He may not have enjoyed the daily drills, but apparently he was pretty good at them because he was often put in charge of running them for his barrack. He discovered, that like his father he could summon up a very commanding tone that kept his fellow soldiers in line. Of course, there were those choice few of his fellow soldiers who would give him sidelong glanced whenever he was put in charge. George had had the luck of growing up in a very accepting part of the country, but some of the others hadn’t and it showed in their manner. So he’d try not to let it get to him, the army was fully integrated now. But he’d heard stories of what it had been like before that, like when his father had been injured and the Sergeant next to him very pointedly asked if he’d been given the right color blood. Luckily, the most George had to deal with were some mildly rolled eyes when he gave an order. That was something he could deal with, he never let it show that it bothered him. Showing that would mean that those bigoted individuals would win, and there was no way George was going to let that happen. 

Advanced training continued in much of the same way. And then it happened that he received a notice for his deployment and once again George felt like the world dropped out from under him. 

Long Bihn, near Saigon. While he knew little about Vietnam he’d heard about Saigon. There was definitely no question that he would be seeing action. Everything felt significantly more real now, there were no more ifs. He would be going to Vietnam, he would be fighting in battles. This really all was happening.

George could afford to panic, not that it would do any good anyway. This was his situation and he was going to make the most of it. At least the fact that he’s received his order meant that had a day off from training to get his things ready and even the chance to call his family. Then he’d have one more intensive week before he took his thirty day leave. While the thought of going home once cheered him, it only felt like a sense of foreboding. A sort of calm before the storm was how he began to see it. And he was sure that the storm that followed would change his life.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Things already felt different and they weren’t even home yet. Augustine had picked up George from the bus depot a couple towns over, the closest that the army transportation services could get him. For nearly the past hour, he and George had just sat in silence, broken only by the radio playing some old big band tunes. Every once in awhile his father would hum a little something along with the radio. But overall very few words were said between them. And it wasn’t that the silence was inherently uncomfortable, they often spent time together without saying a word, but it was just...different. Or maybe George was the one who was different now. He shifted slightly in his seat as he looked out at the road whizzing past.

“You look good, son,” Augustine said finally.

“Thanks dad,” George replied softly.

“The army life seems to suit you,” he continued. 

“The food took a little bit of getting used to,” George admitted, “I was sick the first week or so. On top of figuring out how to handle the training schedule.”

 

Augustine let out a slight chuckle, George then wondered if perhaps he was recalling his own army days?

 

“Well, I’m sure that your mother will be happy to fill your need for well-cooked food,” Augustine said. 

George began to smile, he’d hardly had a chance to think about a home-cooked meal in months.

 

“And Betty has been learning how to bake from Martha,” Augustine continued, “I think the two of them are planning something special for tonight.”

George perked up at that, despite the constant stream of letters he’d missed Martha terribly. He’d been pleased to hear that she was spending more time with his family while he was gone. Clearly his sister and father liked her well enough, which pleased George. Even before they were officially together, his mother had expressed her approval as well. At least, after she’s met Martha. At first, Mary had been a little wary of George being interested in someone who had already been married and had children. But of course Martha was wonderful and had easily swayed Mary in her favor. They were soon pulling up at their home, George felt his shoulders relax at the sight.

“You’re off the hook tonight, but your mother is planning a big party inviting almost everyone,” Augustine informed him.

George just managed to stifle his groan. He had been expecting it, but that didn’t make him look forward to it any more. Augustine parked the car and went to help George with his bags. George was suddenly very conscious of the fact that he was wearing his uniform, freshly cleaned from the mud and muck of training. He thought back to the picture of his father in dress uniform that was displayed proudly on the mantle. His picture would probably be joining it soon enough. Just another way George was fulfilling a Washington family tradition.

The front door flew open and just like the day George got his draft letter, Betty came barreling towards him. George was more than ready to receive her hug and this time he definitely didn’t wobble. At least training had done something good for him. 

“I missed you Georgie,” she grinned.

“I missed you too,” George said, squeezing her in a hug. 

“You feel bigger,” Betty said, “your arms, I mean.”

George let out a small laugh at her declaration, “That does tend to happen when you’re in the army,” he told her.

“You mean the army,” Betty giggled, putting emphasis on the first part of the word.

“Very funny, Bets,” George rolled his eyes.

“Time to go inside,” Augustine said, “I’m sure that your mother already has dinner on the table.”

“Yes sir,” George replied and the three of them made their way into the house.

Once inside, George found a surprise waiting for him. His older brother Lawrence and his fiancé Anne Fairfax were there. Anne was helping Mary bring serving dishes to the table while Lawrence was chatting with Martha. George inhaled deeply, the combination of smells was almost overwhelming to his senses. 

“Special delivery!” Betty called out. 

Despite the rest of the family present, George only had eyes for Martha. She looked like she was barely containing herself from running to his arms. He wished that she would. 

 

Before he could get too far he was accosted by little Jacky Custis tugging at his trouser leg.

“Mister George!” the three-year-old said in his lisping toddler voice, a huge smile on his face. 

George dropped into a crouch so that the two of them could see eye to eye. 

“Hey, buddy,” he replied, “Look at you! You’re getting so big.”

Jack giggled and gave George a clumsy hug before toddling off to play with whatever toys Martha had brought to keep him entertained.

“I told you he missed you,” Martha came up beside him.

“I’m sure he’s the only one,” teased George, “Where’s Patsy?”

“Napping,” Martha replied, “we had a bit of a difficult day today, she has a little cold.”

George sighed, but he knew Patsy wasn’t always in the best of health. He was sure that she would get over it, but Martha had told him that Patsy had been a colicky baby too. George couldn’t help but worry. 

“You ready for a real home cooked meal?” Martha asked, “I brought you that cake as promised.”

“And what kind of cake would that be?” George asked.

“You’ll just have to wait to find out,” teased Martha. 

“Alright you lovebirds,” Lawrence said, throwing a friendly arm around George’s shoulders, “enough canoodling. Dinner is ready.”

 

Martha laughed looping ber arm around George’s as they went into the dining room. I got George a little hard, seeing his whole family sitting around the table together. It usually only happened around Thanksgiving or Christmas. His mother just put a large tray in the middle of the table that was already laden with a number of dishes. It was like she had cooked to feed the army itself. He spotted at least two different kinds of meat and three different preparations of potatoes. Not to mention the abundance of cooked vegetables and even a fresh salad. If he hadn’t been raised to be nothing but polite, George might have told his mother it was all too much. But he knew better, and kept those thoughts to himself.

 

They all sat at around the table, everyone with hushed voices at the sights and scents of the food before them. 

“George, will you say Grace,” Augustine requested in more of a statement rather than a question, bowing his head. 

“Yes, sir,” George replied as everyone followed suit.

When he was done they all immediately began chatting away. Dishes were being passed around and plates were being piled high with food. George felt oddly out of place, not quite as boisterous as everyone else. Betty talked about everything she’d been doing while George was away, and Anne discussed wedding details with his mother. Martha and Lawrence were talking about some shared experience—George often forgot that her late husband had been somewhat friends with Lawrence—and Augustine seemed to be listening very intently to something that Jacky was babbling about. George ate his meal in relative quiet until dessert when the questions turned to him.

“Was training really hard?” Betty asked, her eyes wide and curious. 

 

“At first,” George replied setting his fork down momentarily.

“But you get used to it,” Lawrence said, trying to hide the fact that he was just as curious as their sister. 

Lawrence has always had a dream of following their father into army service before going into law, but it never happened. Even if he hadn’t been too old for the current draft, Lawrence could never have enlisted. As a child, he’d gone through a rough bought of tuberculosis. While he had survived, obviously, his lungs were never the same after that. Lawrence had held on to that dream for some time later but George knew he had no regrets in his life. If he’d gone into the army, he probably never would have met Anne in college. 

 

He couldn’t help but glance over at Martha who was slicing a piece of cake for Jacky. At least they’d have this time together, and he knew he’d be able to count on her letters. He hoped that he would be able to return in one piece for her; he saw their lives together so clearly in his mind. He had a reason to come back, because he wanted to be with Martha. He was struck with the idea that no war would keep them apart.

 

“And you know where they’re sending you, right?”

George was pulled out of his thoughts by Anne’s voice. When he’d called home, George hadn’t told them exactly where he would be going. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to tell them. On the one hand, he didn’t like keeping it a secret, but on the other hand he didn’t want them to worry too much or to be too focused on the news that came out of his particular location. 

“I do,” George replied, his voice was soft. Everyone was looking at him expectantly, so George continued, “My base is in Long Bihn.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Mary said, sounding mildly relieved. George understood why. The names of the most active places were advertised a lot. If his mother didn’t recognize the name, she would assume that it wasn’t a hit spot of activity. George decided not to dissuade her of that notion. He could tell by the look on his brother’s face something was whirring away in that brain of his.

The rest of meal passed without much consequence and Mary with the help of Betty was putting all the dishes away. All George wanted to do was to go to sleep in an actual bed for the first time in what felt like forever, but he consented to sit with Augustine and Lawrence in the living room while Anne and Martha checked on Patsy and put Jacky to bed. Thankfully, the boy was a heavy sleeper and when it came time to leave, the trip back to Martha’s parents home would not wake him. Without asking, Augustine poured his sons glasses of scotch.

They didn’t necessarily need to talk to be comfortable with each other, the Washington men tended to be on the taciturn side, but Lawrence spoke anyway. 

“We’re really proud of you, Geo,” he said. 

George took a sip of his scotch, “You are?” He didn’t even know he’d had this thought until it was out in the open.

“Of course we are,” Augustine agreed. 

 

George’s face flushed when heard that from his father.

“You were never one to dream of military glory,” Augustine continued, “but you’re bucking up and doing your duty. I may not agree with this war or the way it’s being fought, but I support this country and I’ve raised you well enough that you do too.”

George couldn’t help but straighten a little at the praise.

“Lesser men than you might have dodged,” Lawrence added, “or tried to flunk out on purpose, but not you. You’re always taking things in stride, dealing with them as they come and not complaining even when you have every reason to.”

George had to look away from them and busied himself with taking a drink. 

“Son, you don’t have to come home a war hero for us to be proud of you,” Augustine told him. 

“Just as long as you come home,” Lawrence added, his tone softer and almost like an afterthought. 

George cleared his throat and blinked against the burning in his eyes. 

 

—————

When Martha came downstairs from getting Patsy up from her nap, George and Jacky were sitting at the dining table, a coloring book in front of them. It was a little over halfway through George’s leave and he had been invited over to the Dandridges for lunch. Of course, that meant staying for several hours to spend time with Martha and the kids. 

George watched as Jacky proceeded to color a turtle a stunning shade of violet. The strokes of his crayon were haphazard, neither filling in the drawing fully nor staying within the lines. He couldn’t help but notice how the young boy had the habit of sticking his tongue out as he drew.

“Good job, Jacky,” George said, “that looks really great, bud.”

 

Jacky grinned and colored with even more gusto.

 

“Look who came to say hi,” Martha cooed, a still sleepy-looking Patsy in her arms.

Patsy made very little effort in acknowledging George’s presence. He didn’t mind, though. She was always that way right after her nap. In any case, George gave Patsy a smile and a wave, chuckling lightly when the one-year-old buried her face in Martha’s shoulder. 

“No,” Jacky said insistently, tugging at George’s sleeve, “More colors.”

“Okay,” George laughed.

Jacky was very focused for a toddler, he liked to finish the things he started and if George had started a coloring project with him then George needed to be there to finish it. So George picked up a green crayon and began working on the grass at the bottom of the picture with Jacky. It was nice to have a sort of quiet day in, not to have to worry about tiptoeing around his mother about what he would be doing overseas, being able to just relax and color pictures or play with plastic dinosaurs. He was already looking forward to the end of the war, when this could be his life. At this time he was almost ready to completely forego law school on his return. Almost...

“Why don’t I make us all a snack,” Martha suggested. 

“Apples!” Jacky requested, not even looking up from the paper. 

“Apples it is,” agreed Martha. 

She handed Patsy over to George and he settled the one-year-old on his lap so that he could still color with Jacky as well. Martha pressed a kiss to his cheek and she passed by on her way to the kitchen. Patsy was a little more awake at this time and started reaching for some crayons as well. George let her grab one, a painfully bright yellow, but made sure to keep half an eye so that she wouldn’t stick it in her mouth. She was certainly more interested in shaking the crayon around than in coloring anything. 

 

Martha soon returned with a bowl full of sliced apples that she placed on the table and took a slice for herself.

“Are you having fun, Jacky?” she asked. 

Jacky nodded fervently, “Mr. George stays forever.”

“You want me to stay here forever?” George asked. 

“Forever and ever,” Jacky confirmed. Pasty made a cooing noise as if in agreement. 

She wasn’t speaking yet, per se, but she could say things like mama and she sometimes referred to George as “gee.”

"Well Martha I guess our fates have been decided," George laughed.

“Whatever shall we do,” Martha replied teasingly, “I guess we’re stuck with each other.”

George smiled, "I guess maybe I should do something about that...I mean if you want?"

 

“Of course I want to,” Martha said, “When you come back, I expect you to get down on one knee almost immediately.”

“I think that’s a promise I can keep,” George smiled.

—————

Thirty days were over far too quickly for George’s liking, but soon it was time for him to ship out. He knew there was no point bringing a significant amount of personal items, but still George brought a few things, the most treasured of which was a photograph of Martha carefully placed on the inner lid of a brass compass that has once belonged to his grandfather. First stop a base in California, but his stay wouldn’t be long. That was just the jumping off point, before facing the real war.

That meant, however, that he had I take the bus to California, along with a handful of other soldiers from the East coast. It would be a long ride with only his own thoughts and a single paperback for company. Why the army couldn’t fly them to California, George would never know. Everyone had come to the bus depot to see him off. 

“Remember your promise, the second you come home,” Martha reminded him.

“Of course,” George replied, pulling her into a hug the best he could with his bag slung over his shoulder. 

He was certain he’d think about Martha every day he was away.

Next to say goodbye was Betty, who was putting on a brave face despite the fact that her eyes were suspiciously shiny and her lower lip was trembling. 

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” she whispered, burying her face in George’s chest. 

“I’ll be fine,” George reassured her, sounding much more confident than he felt, “I’ll be home before you know it, Bets.”

With a small sniffle, Betty stepped back and clung tightly onto Martha’s arm. Next was Lawrence, who looked rather grim as he approached George.

“Geo,” he said solemnly, clapping a hand on George’s shoulder, “keep yourself safe over there.”

“I will,” George felt himself straighten up a bit.

“Good,” replied Lawrence with a nod, “and just so you know, I looked into Long Bihn.”

“Ah,” sighed George. So Lawrence knew just how close he would be to the biggest hotspot of activity, “Don’t tell mom and Betty. I don’t want them to worry too much.”

“They’re going to worry anyway,” Lawrence said, “but I won’t.”

“Thanks,” George muttered.

“You just better remember to write,” Lawrence added.

“Whenever I can,” promised George. 

With one more clap on George’s shoulder, Lawrence stepped back to let their parents have a turn. Mary stepped forward and thew her arms around him.

“Come back safe,” she told him.

George simply held his mother tightly, breathing in the smell of her very familiar perfume. He was going to try to remember that scent that had filled his childhood. He wanted to tell her he would, but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. He simply kissed her cheek and hoped it would suffice. Augustine stepped forward, looking even more stoic than usual.

“Son,” he started. 

“Sir?”

“Don’t feel the need to act the hero,” Augustine informed him, “while your duty to this country is important it’s not worth throwing your life away.”

“Yes, sir.”

George wasn’t expecting any sort of hug, so the nod and handshake his father gave him was more than enough. There was announcement that echoed throughout the station that interrupted the family moment.

“That’s my bus,” George said unnecessarily, hoisting his bag a little bit higher on his shoulder. 

His family and Martha offered him one last goodbye before he went towards the bus. He resisted the urge to look back, even though he had no idea when he’d see them again.


	4. Chapter 4

The bus ride to California was long and tedious. George busied himself with watching the country pass by his window and the occasional nap. They were at the base only long enough to receive a reiteration of their orders before George and several others were ushered into a plane headed to Vietnam. They stopped once in Alaska to refuel, the soldiers given a chance to stretch their legs. 

George had never flown anywhere before, but he could bet that passenger planes were much more comfortable than the their seats that were sit thinly padded that it couldn’t even really be called padding. Inside the plane was cold and the safety belts so tight they nearly cut off his circulation. 

After Alaska, it was straight on to Vietnam and it’s oppressive heat and humidity. They landed at a base outside of Saigon, quickly processed, and then put on a bus. When they finally arrived in Long Bihn, George couldn’t say how long he’d been traveling or even what day it was. Already he could feel his uniform cling to his body which made him uncomfortable where he stood.

There hadn’t been any sort of superior officer on the bus and it pulled away almost as soon as they had all stepped off. The base wasn’t deserted, but it didn’t seem to be particularly busy either. There was some general sound of chatter and every so often someone would walk by. Nobody made any move to talk to the new arrivals or even look at them. At first, the six of them remained at attention but soon they began to relax. George was about suggest that they try to find someone of authority when a soldier with a grin far too wide for their current circumstances and hair that was just long enough to see that it was exceedingly curly. 

“Hey!” he greeted when he made it to the six of them, “Welcome to Long Bihn, soldiers, I’m Corporal Charles Harrison.” He didn’t give them much of a chance to reply, “So you’re the new bunch that’s been sent out our way,” he commented.

“Feels like we’ve been on our way for ages, sir,” one of the other soldiers said. 

Harrison laughed, “Get ready for more of that here, soldier. Time either moves really quickly or unbearably slowly. I’m not sure which is worse.”

George swallowed as he took it all in.

“Follow me and I’ll show you around the place,” Harrison gestured for the men to follow.

All told, it wasn’t a particularly long tour as there weren’t too many things to see: mess hall, barracks, medic, supply storage, all clustered in a small clearing amongst the Vietnamese rainforest. Harrison then took them to one of the enlisted men’s tents. 

“Leave your things,” Harrison told them, “we’ll get your bunks assigned later. You’ve timed your arrival well, it’s supper time. I’ll warn you, though, the food here isn’t much better than what you were getting in basic.”

Like the others, George dropped his duffle onto the floor with a thud. Harrison continued to chatter as he led them back to the mess hall. He seemed like a nice enough guy, if a little chatty. Unlike any of the other superior officers George had encountered, Harrison didn’t seem to care what their ranks were, speaking to each of them as an equal and even going as far as to tell them to call him Charlie. They shuffled through the line, getting their trays.

“Judging by the color I think this was surplus from World War II,” someone behind George muttered.

George snorted in amusement under his breath. He definitely agreed with that. He took a seat, and to his surprise Charlie sat across from him.

“So, where are ya from, Private...” Charlie prompted.

“Washington,” George replied, “or Wash...or, uh, George if you want. I’m from Virginia.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Charlie held out his hand which George accepted, giving him a firm shake across the table. “So,” Charlie continued, scooping up some of the food-substance on his tray, “what brings you to this neck of the woods, your own desires or the whims of the US government?”

“The latter,” George responded. 

“Me too,” Charlie replied.

“Hell of an experience,” George said, carefully neutral. You never knew who might take offense to complaints, even the drafted men could be overzealous.

“Indeed...” Charlie replied, George couldn’t help but notice the somewhat wistful look in his eye. He shook his head lightly as if clearing it and his grin returned, “Got a sweetheart, George?”

George felt his face flush, “I do.”

Charlie leaned forward, “Aha, I thought so. You have that look about you.”

 

George cleared his throat in response, feeling his face get redder.

 

“She said she’d wait for me,” he said, very aware of the weight of the compass with Martha’s photo, which was on a chain around his neck, “Made me promise to propose the moment I get home.”

George glanced at Charlie, partially to gauge his reaction to the statement.

Charlie’s smirk softened slightly, “Aw man, you caught me. I’m a bit of a romantic at heart and that, my friend, is romantic. Assuming it actually happens.”

“So you’re a romantic and a cynic,” George said. 

“Not cynical, I’ve just seen the reality of life here,” Charlie responded, “now I’m not saying your girl won’t wait for you, plenty of them do, but the waiting is only part of it, it’s the afterwards that causes the problems.”

George felt mildly uncomfortable with where their conversation was going, so he turned it back to nicer things, “You got a sweetheart back home?”

For a moment Charlie was quiet which made George wonder if he’d had some heartbreak of his own.

“I’ve got a sweetheart,” Charlie said finally, “got a baby on the way too.”

“Guess some congratulations are in order,” George replied.

That wistful look returned to Charlie’s eye, “It’s crazy how soon I’ll be a father.”

In a way, George kind of understood how he felt. While Jacky and Patsy were not his kids biologically, George knew that marrying Martha meant being a father to the children as well. George simply nodded his head in reply.

“Better finish that grub,” Charlie told him, “it’s all you’ll be getting until the morning. No midnight snacking here and you definitely don’t want to tear into a field ration when you don’t have to. Trust me.”

“Yes sir,” George replied before taking another bite of his dehydrated mashed potatoes.

 

—————

It wasn’t the first time George found himself missing the food at base camp. He never would have thought that there could be food worse than that. Then he’d tasted field rations. They always sounded like they might not be too bad until he actually ate it. And on top of everything else, as time dragged on the weather was worse than anything Louisiana had thrown at them.

It was impossible to escape the heat even indoors, and the humidity made every piece of clothing cling to his skin. Sometimes out on patrol they would have to keep low, crawl on their bellies through the mud that was impossible to keep from getting into their eyes and mouths. At least he got along reasonably well with the other members of his squad.

As promised he wrote many letters back home, but for concern of them being raked over by the censors George kept them vague. Of course, they didn’t get mail picked up very often so George tended to have a pile of letters to send out all at once. They received mail even less frequently, so George wasn’t sure how many of his letters were actually getting to their intended destination. He lived for mail call, and receiving letters from home so for a short time he could forget about where he was.

But all things considered, life in Vietnam was calmer and more structured than he would have thought. All of the squads were on rotation to patrol the surrounding areas. It wasn’t that he didn’t see action, he did see it and the night after the first time he had to use his gun and saw another human being fall to the ground and out of view...George didn’t care that they were on the other side of this war, he’d had to stop himself from throwing up right then and there.

Soon weeks turned into months, skirmishes turned to battles. That became life as normal in this hot jungle that was the closest thing he had to home.

“We’ve got new orders,” his squad leader, Andrews, said during their supper in the mess hall one day. 

“We just came back,” sighed McDonald around a scoop of rice and beans. 

“What’s your point, soldier?” asked Andrews, “That’s how it is in war, you go where you’re sent when they tell you to go there. And we’ve been told to go.”

“Go where?” George asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Unto the breach, Wash,” Andrews replied grimly, “You heard of the Tet Offensive,” it wasn’t a question, everyone currently enlisted knew about the Tet Offensive, it had been in its fledgling days when George was drafted, “Phase three is set to begin and we’ve been sent in. Lucky us.”

George inhaled deeply, “I highly doubt luck has anything to do with it.”

“At least we don’t have to do it sober,” Hansen added in reference to the contraband still he’d erected in the latrine.

“I’ll drink to that,” snorted Wynn, raising his cup. 

Of course, none of them would actually go into battle drunk, but Andrews still smiled indulgently as the squad let out a cheer and clinked plastic cups. 

George took a sip of the liquor concocted from rice Hanson had bought from a local farmer. As he did so he began coughing loudly, “This is vile, you could blind someone with that shit.”

 

Laughter rippled through the group. 

“You’re obviously not from the south,” said Hansen, his southern drawl thickening, “down in Georgia, we grow up on stuff like this.”

“I’m from Virginia,” George protested. 

“That’s not south,” Hansen scoffed teasingly, “that’s...diet south.”

George glared at Hansen, “It’s not.”

“Just teasing, Wash,” Hansen laughed.

George attempted to take another sip of moonshine, not really saying much else.

“Drink up, boys, and get some rest,” Andrews commanded after a short time of mindless chatter, “we have a couple day’s walk ahead of us. We leave at first light.”

With that, he stood and made his way to his barrack. 

“Why do they even say first light?” McDonald asked, “It’s not like there’s a second light, the sun only comes up once.”

“You’re drunk,” George out his hand on his shoulder, “come on.”

They traipsed back to the barrack they all shared, definitely more wobbly on their feet than before. George knew that there would be some pounding heads in the morning, made worse by how early they had to leave. 

 

—————

If it were a different situation, George might have found it amusing for a man of his height to be sneaking around; he always felt like he stood out. But this wasn’t a different situation, this was guerrilla warfare and no matter how quietly he was stepping George could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. The Vietcong knew how to hide, but then again this was their country and land. And while they might have been in the jungle for some time now, none of them knew it as well. George resisted the urge to wipe away the sweat that was heading on his forehead. Any movement could reveal his position. Even the sound a twig snapping nearly made him jump out of his skin. George swallowed as he looked around him.

Time itself felt like it was frozen around him, thick with rain forest humidity. Then all of a sudden that stillness was gone. George couldn’t say what caused it or even which side started it, but shouts soon filled the air along with cracking gunshots. Andrews was barking commands, trying to take control of the situation. George saw his teammates coming out of their hiding places, joining the engagement. He felt frozen still, his feet refusing to move. 

“Come on, Wash!” Hansen said as he passed by, gripping George’s shoulder briefly and tightly. 

One second he was there and then the next George’s breath caught in his throat as Hansen crumpled to the ground, eyes unseeing. In the distance he could hear shells dropping, and with everyone running about it was quickly turning to chaos. 

George made a move to aim his gun having spotted some shadows amongst the trees. His eyes darted around desperately trying to lock on a target. It was hard to make out specific figures, hard to concentrate with the shouts and gunshots. George wasn’t proud of it, but he didn’t focus or aim too well before he shot, making sure to stay clear of the members of his squad. The smell of gunpowder filled his nose as he dashed through the jungle. He was half going on instinct towards the rendezvous point, his lungs aching with the heaviness of his breath and his arms tired from holding his gun up. He wasn’t the first to retreat and make it to their safe spot. McDonald was waiting there for him, a fact George discovered by the gun pointed in his direction. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” McDonald huffed, “scared the shit out of me, Wash.”

“What’s the status?” George asked, “What do you know?”

“Besides the fact that we were ambushed?” McDonald asked acerbically, “Andrews is down.”

“Hansen too,” added George grimly.

There was no time to mourn their fallen colleagues at this time. That would have to come later, they just had to make sure they weren’t about to join them. At the end, there were five of them left out of twelve and without their commander there was definitely a risk of aimlessness. George didn’t even think about it before taking the lead and nobody seemed to be opposed. Someone had to do it or it was likely they’d all be killed. George continued to bark orders over the sounds of guns and shell fire.

None of them could say how long they were in the thick of it, it seemed endless and time had no meaning, but eventually quiet returned and they began their trudge back to base. It was only once they were no longer in a firefight that George noticed the twinge in his shoulder. He was inclined to ignore it, but when he had nothing else pressing to focus on the pain radiated down his entire arm. The few remaining members of their squad were able to slink back when all was said and done. People had obviously been kept appraised of the situation because their entrance to the base was not a quiet one. It certainly didn’t help that they practically dragged themselves in and didn’t try to be stealthy about it. Out of the five of them, George was the worst injured with a bullet hole through the shoulder. The others were generally okay aside from some scrapes, cuts, and bruises, although Riley was also nursing a mildly sprained ankle.

One of the medics ran up to him and forced him to take a seat, “I think that we’ll need a chopper for ya...” he muttered.

“It’s fine,” George tried to protest, despite the pain, “just patch me up and I’ll be good to go.”

“You’ve been shot,” the medic glared, “I’m calling for a chopper pilot for you and the others.”

 

Remembering his father and brother’s wish for him not to play the hero, George sat back without another word, his shoulder sending him s painful reminder of his injury. George grit his teeth and shut his eyes against his developing headache. He vaguely heard the medic telling Riley that he’d also be coming and continuing to patch up the others. Exhaustion began to overtake George, and he was hardly aware of his surroundings. His presence of mind returned in brief spurts whenever he was jostled in the wrong way. He thought he heard someone, maybe McDonald, say, “Make sure they take good care of Wash. He got us out of there, we would have died without him, I swear.”

Beyond that George could hardly remember much else.

—————

Mary couldn’t believe that it was already November. The chill permeating the air was staged off nicely by both the central heating in the house and the lit oven where bread was baking. She already was making plans for a large family Thanksgiving meal. Mary was casually flipping through one of her magazines in the search for ideas. Just as she was studying a promising looking recipe for homemade cranberry sauce when there was a knock at the front door. Mary’s gaze snapped up at the three sharp raps. She was on edge about knocks on the door, especially that kind. Part of her was waiting for a military envoy to arrive on the doorstep with bad news. She slowly got up from her chair, no one else was around so she would have to open it.

“I’ll be right there!” Mary called out, unsure if they could even hear her.

Mary hurried to the door, even dread was setting in the more and more she thought about it. She took a deep breath and smoothed down her skirt before opening the door. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found and she let out a small gasp. It was George, all done up in his dark green dress uniform. For a moment, she stood there just looking at him; is hair had grown out some and he was wearing a couple days worth of stubble, there were some new lines on his face and his eyes looked older. He also had two medals pinned to his chest: a bronze star and a Purple Heart. 

Mary gasped be throwing her arms around him, “You’re home!”


End file.
